


The Real Thing

by lemotmo



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemotmo/pseuds/lemotmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>"Is that it Martin? You like to watch?"</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of transferring my best fics from Livejournal to this Ao3 account. As I read the stories again, I can clearly see the way my writing-style has changed (for the better) over the years. Some of these stories could use some re-editing. However, I have decided to leave the fics as they are. Each story clearly reflects the way I looked upon the world at the moment of writing. I kinda like that.
> 
> **This story is a repost from a fic written in September 2005**.

Martin knows he shouldn't be watching this, but somehow he is strangely transfixed on the image they present. And this is seriously fucked up, 'cause one does not stand in front of the window of a colleague's apartment, while said colleague is in the kitchen making coffee, staring at two men going at it in a building across the street. He should be thinking of the case and their missing person. Discussing all angles with Danny, going over all the steps again and again, just to make sure they didn't forget something vital; a clue that might change the outcome of this case. 

And, yet, here he stands, forehead pressed up against the cold window separating him from the outside world. Warm breath forming a damp fog where it hits the glass. Sweaty hand clinging to the window-sill, the other one slowly rubbing little circles on his groin. Up and down. Up and down. And he should stop this, 'cause he really doesn't want to come inside his new grey pants. There would be stickiness and wet spots and a sudden vision of Danny walking into the room finding him jerking off invades his mind and a groan escapes when he realises that there's a part of him that couldn't care less. 

Fascinated, he watches as the two half naked strangers kiss each other senseless, oblivious that they're standing right in front of their balcony door, lights on and drapes open. They're the stars of their own private floorshow and they're not even aware of it. And, not for the first time tonight, he wishes that he could be more like them. If he only knew the rush of giving up all control and just give in to his basic desires. Right up until he reaches that moment when the rest of the world fades away and all he's left with is need, want, lust and even love. In a moment like that, he could be just Martin, the man. Not Martin, the tight-assed prick with a short temper who keeps falling into relationships with the wrong women. Not the FBI-agent with one hell of a father-complex. But mostly Martin, who secretly lusts after his straight male co-worker and is too chicken shit to do something about it, tries his best to ignore it. 

His eyes drop to the taller man's hands. Hands that are now sensuously caressing the other man's ass. Hips are thrusting forward in an effort to bring their groins even closer than they already are. Backs are arching and heads are tossed back in wordless pleasure. And Martin is almost certain there are cries and moans of passion and, closing his eyes briefly, he imagines he can almost hear them. Not wanting to miss any of it he opens his eyes again, only to be confronted with closed drapes. 

"No, no, no-- not now," he pants, slouching forward until his entire upper body is resting against the window. "Don't stop now; you didn't even get to the good stuff yet." 

Suddenly, his world is filled with mortification and fear and he freezes up completely when someone quietly chuckles behind his back. And, oh God, this isn't happening. When did Danny leave the kitchen? How long does it take to make coffee? No, no-- Danny did not just walk in and see him drooling all over two men having sex. Danny did not hear him mutter those last words. He did not, he did not, he did not-- 

"If you're thinking of standing there, waiting for an encore, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. They usually remember to close the drapes before the good stuff begins," Danny says. 

\--okay, maybe he did. 

Another groan escapes his lips. This time it has nothing to do with arousal and everything with absolute embarrassment. He wants to turn around, say his goodbyes, grab his coat and get the hell out of dodge. But, instead, he remains where he is, still leaning against the window, softly thudding his head against the cold glass. And he can't for the life of him understand why his feet won't move. Where is that Fitzgerald cool headedness when he needs it? Martin doesn't need to turn around to know Danny's lips are sporting that little infuriating smirk of his. And what is he supposed to say now? What is he to do? 

"So, Martin," Danny breaks the silence, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" 

"Nope," Martin manages to squeak out. 

"No? Hmm, that's funny. 'Cause I could have sworn you were just looking out my window, staring at two half naked men who were in the middle of a very passionate make-out session," Danny says. 

"They were? I didn't see them." 

And this is good. This is what Martin knows and what he's good at. He can do denial. Hell, he's a Fitzgerald. He's the king of denial. 

"Really?" Danny teases and Martin's breath hitches. Because this time Danny's voice doesn't come from across the room, but is whispered softly in his right ear. And somewhere in between Martin's embarrassment and denial, Danny managed to sneak closer until he was standing right behind him. "Cause I have to tell you Fitz. From where I was standing, I'd say that you were thoroughly enjoying the view. Is that it, Martin? You like to watch? Does that turn you on?" he huskily breathes into Martin's ear, while bringing his hand around Martin's body, slapping his frozen hand away and cupping the obvious proof of his arousal. 

"Oh, fuck!" And it nearly undoes him. For months now Martin has been dreaming about Danny's touch on his body. Imagining what it would feel like. And now, with only a fraction of a real touch, he already feels like jumping out of his skin. And he can't help thrusting into the warm hand that has just taken over his world. Blood is rushing everywhere. His face flushes until it's as red as a tomato and, at any other time, he really hates that. But, in the light of the fact that it's there because of Danny and his talented hands, he couldn't care less. 

A wet tongue sneaks out and starts laving his ear, dipping in and out. Teeth tug at his earlobe, sucking it into a hot mouth, trailing lower, licking at sensitive skin on his neck. And suddenly, Danny's hand is no longer on the outside of his pants as he feels a sweaty palm enclosing his cock. And Martin has no idea how Danny managed to open his fly with only one hand. The thought flees when Danny starts moving his hand. Up and down. Up and down. And this is so much better than when it's his own hand doing this. For the next few minutes, Martin's world narrows down to the man behind him, the hand enclosing him and the small damp spot on the window that keeps growing every time he exhales. Harsh panting and an occasional moan is all that he can bring out. And Martin is so close now. Different sensations bombard his brain. A slick, sweaty palm rubbing his cock. Harsh breaths and whispered words of encouragement caressing his ear. Wet tongue licking his neck. And that familiar feeling at the base of his spine telling him that it won't be long now. And then-- 

"Danny! Fuckfuckfuck! Sogood! Ohgodsogood!" 

Strong arms hold him up and firmly encase him in a reassuring hug. And Martin can't stop the happy sated sigh that escapes. Another chuckle caresses his ear and something hot and hard is being pressed against his ass and he knows what Danny wants and he's more than willing to provide. Finding enough strength, he finally turns around within the confines of the tight embrace and comes face to face with Danny. And he was right, that small smirk is firmly in place. But tense muscles and tight features tell a different story. Danny is staring straight at him. A clear non-verbal question written in his dark eyes. Eyes clouded with uncertainty for what Martin's answer will be. 

And then it hits him. This is Danny. Warm, kind, tender, confident, angry, emotionally unstable and forever doubting Danny. For him, this isn't just a one time thing. Danny's been waiting for this. For some kind of a sign. Something to tell him that Martin was ready for more than just friendship. And this night, of all nights, Danny witnessed something that pulled him over the proverbial line. He unearthed one of Martin's secrets and in exchange offered one of his own, which left him open and exposed. Naked, for all to see. Waiting for an answer. And Martin will not deny him, refuse him or turn away. He will accept anything Danny is willing to give. 

Slowly he closes the gap between them and solemnly plants a small peck on Danny's lips, letting him know that this is okay and Danny is exactly what he wants. Before he can say anything, Danny's arms tighten around his back and he is pulled into a deep, heated kiss. Lips locking, tongues caressing and teeth biting. When they finally pull back, forehead to forehead, breaths mingling, Danny only asks one question. 

"Stay?" 

"Yeah." 

And then Danny releases his hold on him and for a moment he is cold again, already missing Danny's warm body. And Martin never knew it was so easy to get addicted to a touch until now. But then Danny takes his hand, and slowly pulls him into the direction of the bedroom. And as he's following, he risks one more look through the window. The drapes are still closed, but he doesn't mind. Because he doesn't need some floorshow or a fantasy scenario anymore. This time he's got the real thing.

**FIN**


End file.
